The Legend of Tyoga Weathersby by H L Grandin Page A

Tes Qua Ta Wa, who now prowled the woods behind him.
    “So, little coward, what will it be?” Tyoga teased. “Are you brave enough to throw the stone down on me as I float helplessly in the pool? Or will you drop the stone and run after your brave friends?”
    Tyoga remembered the look in Seven Arrows’ eyes when he dropped the stone to his feet.
    Bowing his head, Seven Arrows walked slowly toward the dense underbrush before he paused and turned toward the pool. “You will remember this day, Tyoga Weathersby. What you have begun today can only be ended by me. You will never know when or where.”
    Tyoga could hear the joyous laughter when Tes Qua and Sunlei jumped in the pool when they thought that Seven Arrows had left them in peace to enjoy the rest of the day. The three frolicked together secure in the special bond of friendship their shared encounter with Seven Arrows served to strengthen.
    After a while Tes Qua asked, “Is anyone getting hungry?”
    “Yeah. A gi yo si,” (I could eat.) Tyoga replied.
    “I have some berries in my pouch. Let’s catch some fish and have lunch,” Sunlei said.
    “Sure.” Tyoga pushed her toward the shore. “Tes Qua, you start the fire. I’ll get the fish.”
    The cool clear water enveloped his body when he propelled himself toward the bottom of the pool where schools of perch darted about like flocks of sparrows. His ears began to ring with the sound of Sunlei’s cries when he recalled breaching the surface with two perch wriggling at the end of his makeshift lance.
    After throwing his lance to the shore, he jumped out of the water and ran to where Sunlei was kneeling in her brother’s arms. Tes Qua looked up at Tyoga with sad, confused eyes while he wrapped his other arm around Sunlei.
    Under the stone that Seven Arrows had raised above his head to fling down at Tyoga were the crushed remains of the five baby ducks. Resting next to the nest was the mother hen, her decapitated head nowhere to be seen.
    His ears burned with the sound of Seven Arrows’s cruel laughter echoing in his head.
    The snapping of the cross-stays was violent and sudden. Tyoga planted both heels in the soft earth of the trail, and strained to keep the sled from pitching Tes Qua to the ground. It was the second time that he had fallen to his knees. He steadied himself and slowly lowered the travois to the ground. The sudden jerking awakened Tes Qua.
    “E s gi ne hv si.” (I’m thirsty.) Tes Qua struggled to get the words out of his parched mouth and cracking lips.
    “I’ll get you some water, Tes. Hold on.”
    When Tyoga returned from the stream, Tes Qua had passed out again. He lifted his friend’s head and gave him a drink of the cool water. Through eyes dulled by fatigue and pain, Tes Qua looked at Tyoga with a stare that focused far away. All he said was, “Da gi y ‘we ga.” (I’m tired) His eyes closed. His body went limp.
    Time was growing short.
    The repairs to the travois were easy to make, and within minutesTyoga was once again straining to pull his friend to safety.
    It was the middle of the night, when the woods grow cold and dark. Successful predators had eaten and gone to sleep. Those that had not were still on the hunt and desperate for food.
    The blisters on Tyoga’s hands had burst hours ago, and now they were bleeding. His hands were on fire. His right moccasin was gone. The wound on his thigh had started bleeding again. Somewhere along the trail, the trapper’s knife had fallen out from his belt. He was alone, injured, and defenseless.
    Still, he marched on.
    He lifted his feet in mechanical repetition without feeling them plant and propel him forward. His mind wandered back to those cool autumn nights when he used to huddle close to the fireplace in his family’s South Henge cabin to listen to the stories his father would tell him and his brother, Davy, about Grandpa Joshia Weathersby.
    Filled with the many hardships his grandfather endured bringing his young family across